Absconding and Remnants
by Nevermore-evermore
Summary: AU. Sly is a filthy pickpocket who just wants to wash his parents' blood of his hands. When the opportunity to do so arises, he joins forces with two others; a paranoid genius, and an abnormally strong heir. An instant bond is formed, and soon the world is going to be rid of its criminals-by criminals themselves. *Follows the Sly 2 plot line, but will have adjustments.


** All I'm saying is that this probably should never have been written. But you know, desperate times call for desperate measures, and simply idling by and never writing a proper fanfiction for my favorite video game of all time is simply not acceptable. So here I am, writing this for all of you. Hope you enjoy your stay.**

** Because of this website's spacing, I will be double-spacing the lines, yet the indent will remain. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sly Cooper. The series belongs to Sucker Punch, and currently, Sanzaru Games. **

…

Sly fell asleep every morning with cold feet. His furry feet did nothing to prevent the autumn air from seeping through and upon his feet. While the day would warm his feet, he would awake at night with the same cold sensation. It's not a position he wished to be in. But once one has hit rock bottom, it's hard to rise up.

Sly wouldn't say he had reached rock bottom. No, he wouldn't _admit it. _No Cooper had ever gone poor and resorted to stealing from an innocent, and yet there he was, fiddling with the few coins in his patched pocket. It drove him to heavy feelings of guilt. Cooper's only stole from other thieves, never civilians who may be struggling with money themselves. Maybe he _was_ the young, filthy, piece of trash everyone thought he was.

Never wearing any footwear hardened the tender pads on the bottom of his feet. Each step on the cobblestone beneath his feet felt like nothing. His pants weren't even pants anymore—merely tattered fabric covering the important parts and forgetting about the others. Tufts of fur came out of the holes, making his state even more apparent than it already was. The only valuable thing he had was his family cane.

He walked down a large street. Despite the moon hanging brightly in the sky, many were still out. All being nocturnal, of course. Only the nocturnal were allowed outside at night. Just as the diurnal were only allowed out during the day. The system was affective, so none would ever dare complain about it. Anyone who dared to disobey the law would be immediately arrested—sometimes by Inspector Fox herself.

Sly nearly sighed at the thought of her. Carmelita had been chasing him for years, never giving up for a second. He found every bit of the vixen attractive. He would flirt with her when given the chance, but she would never buy it and then try to paralyze him with her shock pistol. He'd never been shot, but he had seen others be. It could leave the victim paralyzed for days. He couldn't imagine the kind of pain—

"Freeze Cooper."

Speaking of the devil.

Sly turned, to see Carmelita herself, yet not holding her pistol like usual. She seemed…casual. "Ah, Carmelita. Fancy meeting you this late at night."

"Cut the crap, Cooper. You and I both know that someone is going to be robbed tonight."

She leaned against the side of a building. Sly took in every inch of her. She didn't even have her uniform on. "What makes you think that? And where's your little pistol? Decide not to try and hospitalize me?"

"I'm on break. But this conversation isn't about me. So who's your target? I thought I'd give them a little warning before you come in and steal some of their precious things," Carmelita retorted, crossing her arms. "Or did you decide to show some mercy tonight?"

"I'm not targeting anyone tonight." Sly raised an eyebrow. "You're on break? Suddenly that stops you?"

Carmelita let out a low growl. "I'm not allowed to pursue you when it's night. It's bullshit."

Sly gave a dry laugh. "The law finally pulling your tail?"

"Can it, Cooper," Carmelita replied. "I'm not here to interrogate you about the next victim, I'm here to ask you for a few answers."

"On what?"

"Do you know an owl that goes by the name of Clockwerk?"

Sly felt his stomach drop. Clockwerk was a name that seemed to be tattooed everywhere on his body. He hadn't even met the guy, the only evidence he knew of him being the fact that him and a small gang of criminals broke into his home and slaughtered his parents. Sly had tried to forget. He had tried really hard. He had been so young; he should have been able to forget to easily, yet it always floated around his subconscious no matter what he did. "I do."

Carmelita narrowed her eyes at him, and Sly realized that he wasn't wearing his cocky grin anymore. He threw it back on.

"Good…" Carmelita paused warily, eyes softening a little. "We're looking for him. He's been causing too much trouble around here, and you being a criminal, may have ways of finding his location. So" –Carmelita pulled a handgun out of her boot and pointed it at him— "where is he?"

"I don't know where Clockwerk is," Sly said in disbelief.

"I'm half tempted to accuse you of lying."

"But I'm _not lying_."

"Don't all you criminals keep tabs on each other?"

"I try to avoid the ones that commit massacre."

Carmelita sharply laughed. "How do you know that then? Clockwerk is pretty secretive about things."

Sly's smile faltered. He could never bring himself to talk about the event. Not now, not ever. Especially not to Carmelita. "Hey, what's that? I think I hear a citizen's wallet calling!"

"Cooper don't you dare—"

"Sorry, I'll talk to you later!"

He then took off, turning a corner and vanishing into the night.

…

As the sun began to show itself over the horizon, Sly found himself growing anxious. He had to find a place where he was out of sight—and fast. The diurnals were coming out soon. If he didn't hide himself, he would be arrested. That was not a fate he coveted to see_. A Cooper never gets arrested_, he thought gloomily. He had come too close in the past. Too close for comfort. If he were to be earnest, it scared him. Completely.

The only thing he had to his name was legacy and infamy. The Cooper Clan was infamous

for their thievery, yet were never feared. They had a code. To only steal from other thieves, or those who deserve it. The innocent are not to be stolen from. The Thievious Raccoonus, the Cooper Clan's missing book, stated each and every rule of a Cooper. If they break one of these rules, they must restore their honor in some fashion. Sly had yet to commit one of the sins that cannot be excused. To kill or injure one without excuse.

But what he had done was commit a severe sin. To steal from an innocent. But what sickened him the most was that he enjoyed the rush he got whenever he did trail that person, snatch their money, and then run away. He always tried to do the right thing—but being a thief made that difficult.

Sly eventually chose to rest atop a building. A rooftop guard was sure to find him, but Sly didn't mind at the time. They could turn him in to whichever mafia boss was running the area. They could decide what to do with him. As long as it didn't result in him dying or being sent to Interpol, he didn't care.

Setting his head down, he closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless slumber.

…

"You're the one who invented the binocucom, right?"

Bentley started with a nearly inaudible gasp. He nearly smiled. He was getting better at controlling himself. "I am." Bentley turned around. A policewoman stood behind him on the sidewalk, a smile on her face. Bentley had reasons to believe it was malicious.

"Good. Interpol needs you to make us some."

Bentley felt himself begin to sweat. He only reached her waist, and she looked quite intimidating being forced to look up at her. He faltered under her gaze. He scratched the back of his head, avoiding eye contact. "How, uh, how many?"

"You have all of Interpol to cover. It's going to be a lot," she replied. "You may want to get some coworkers or something…"

At that, Bentley felt himself shrink even smaller than before. "Coworkers?" he asked, but in an act of intense bravery and self-confidence, Bentley puffed out his chest an and stood on his toes. It barely did much to make him look better. But Bentley didn't care. "I'm a bit of a 'solo' act, as you can see. And uh, how much money are we talking here? Huh?"

The policewoman looked like she was going to start giggling. Bentley went back on his feet and stared at the ground in response. "Whoa, tone down there, tough guy. For money and such, someone else will contact you. I just need your name and number."

Bentley took out his usual notepad and pencil. He wrote down his number, snatched the paper off, and gave it to the lady. "My name's Bentley Wiseturtle. My number's on the paper. What's, uh, your name? Just in case someone asks or something."

"Just call me Inspector Fox. Pleasure to meet you, Bentley." She shook his nimble hand, and with another polite smile, turned around and began walking away. Bentley did the same. But his wasn't polite. It was pure ecstasy. He hadn't stuttered once the entire conversation! He did get a little more nervous than he liked to. But in the success, Bentley didn't care. He would go back to his apartment, order himself a pizza, and begin working on the new binocucoms. Luckily for him, binocucoms are actually quite simple to make. If the order was as large as he expected it to be, it would take him quite a long time to complete it. But the authorities using his invention? He felt like his career was finally taking off.

After walking a few blocks, Bentley stumbled across his apartment complex. It wasn't too fancy, yet not too shabby. It was one of the buildings 'protected' by the mob boss who owned Paris, Dimitri. But Bentley tried to avoid him as much as possible.

There was a bloodcurdling scream from atop the roof. Normally Bentley would just assume it was a robber trying to break into the building. But this time, the scream was different. Like the victim of the attack was being harmed for no apparent reason. Normally Bentley would just force himself to forget the incident. But that day he had Interpol on his side. He could take the attacker. He was sure of it. And if not, he could describe their appearance and get them arrested. It seemed like the perfect plan. He could help them. He wouldn't be like the bystanders who didn't help him all those years.

Bentley made his way into the building, soaring up the flight of stairs until he reached the roof. The roof had a flat surface, and was made with concrete, so it was perfect for fighting. But Bentley hadn't expected a fight. He had expected a bully and a victim. Not a raccoon and rat fighting.

It was obvious that the raccoon was losing. He could only make a few small blows before being knocked down or being forced to block with his cane and almost stumble to the ground. The raccoon's fur was matted with blood. The rat, on the other hand, looked like he could go at it for hours. The raccoon launched himself at the rat, only to have the rat quickly evade his attack and collide his baton with the raccoons face. The raccoon seemed to scrape himself. But he got back up anyways. However, the rat slammed him back down into the ground in near moments, dangerously close to the edge of the roof. The rat yelled a few things in French, pressing the tip of his baton to the raccoon's throat. The raccoon attempted to reply, but a wheezing noise was the only thing that came out of his throat.

Bentley shook his head. The raccoon had blatantly started the fight. Though he couldn't watch the raccoon die. There was something strange about him that kind of made him want to save him. The desperation in his eyes, his terrible fighting style, ripped clothes and something else he couldn't quite place. He took out his binocucom. In it had a built-in blowgun and sleeping darts. He aimed it at the rat. But he didn't want to start any trouble, so he aimed it a little to the left, and shot.

It hit the raccoon straight in the neck.

…

Murray rushed down the street, huffing as he did so. His best friend, Bentley, had called him just over ten minutes ago asking him to go over to his apartment. Something about an unconscious victim that needed his help. Not that he could do much about injuries. Though Bentley could, and Murray had easy access to the medical necessities.

He threw the apartment complex door open, and pressed the elevator button. When the elevator came he climbed into, pressed the button, waited, and then arrived on Bentley's floor. He ran down the hallway, not caring about the neighbors, until he reached Bentley's door. He knocked rapidly, awaiting the turtle's response. "Murray, is that you? The guy's conscious but has some pretty bad injuries! The spare key is under the—"

Before Bentley had even finished his sentence, Murray had busted the door down. Bentley jumped in shock. Murray almost did too. In Bentley's living room, there was a raccoon laying in a pool of blood. He nearly tripped he hurried so fast.

Murray dropped the medical bag next to Bentley. "Who's this?"

"I found him on the roof. He was getting beaten up by a guard or something."

Murray's face flashed with concern. "Will he be okay? Do you even know what his name is?"

Bentley wrapped white bandage around one of the deeper arm wounds. "He's conscious, but is refusing to talk to me. I don't know why."

Murray looked at the raccoon's face. "Hey there buddy, you awake?

"Of course I'm awake."

Bentley gave out a squeal, nearly falling over, which caused the raccoon to chuckle. "Th-that was n-not funny!"

"Did _you_ find it funny Murray?"

"Maybe just a little."

Bentley gave out a small groan. "Okay, both of you stop it! What's your name?"

"I don't know if I should give you my name. I'm a little...famous," the raccoon replied with a smirk.

"I've been nursing you b-back to health. You could at least t-tell me your name." Bentley did not look happy.

"Fine. My name is Sly. My last name isn't something I don't deserve to have right now, so just ignore it," Sly said. "So Bentley, what made you decide to rescue someone like me? And, uh, strip me naked?"

"I need to make sure I patch you up properly. It's not like your clothes did much anyway. And for the first question, I just...didn't want to be a bystander."

They remained in silence. Yet it wasn't awkward. Bentley cared for Sly's wounds, Sly relaxed, and Murray stole glances at the pizza resting on Bentley's kitchen counter. Though after a while, Murray grew restless. He lived for action, not to wait around. So he sat down on the living room couch and turned on the television. "Murray, switch it to the news channel. We need to make sure no one saw the fight and reported it."

Murray did as he was told. The news anchor was a young man looking just above thirty. "…due to recent events, Interpol has made Clockwerk public enemy number one. He's been convicted with genocide, theft, and various other crimes. In the picture featured in the top right corner, he's a large metallic Eurasian Eagle Owl with glowing yellow eyes. Due to his level of danger, Interpol has advised everyone that sees him to back away quickly, hide, and notify the police. Another gang named the Klaww—"

"It seems like they have more pressing matters at hand. Murray, you can watch whatever you want."

"No—keep it on. This information is useful," Sly insisted, and Murray shrugged, keeping the channel on.

"This gang is affiliated with Clockwerk in some way. There have been traces of contact, but the Klaww Gang is not to be considered too dangerous. And now, for the weather..."

Sly suddenly shot up, scaring Bentley again. "Give me some clothes. I've got business to take care of."

"It's best if you stay put for awhile. Your injuries are still fresh," Bentley reminded him. "If you have no place to stay, feel free to stay here for awhile. You may actually be some use to me."

Sly groaned.

"Fine, but at least give me some clothes."

**End of chapter one.**

**Next chapter: Sly, Bentley, and Murray do some research and make plans, and Carmelita meets her new accomplice. **


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